


After Reichenbach

by sherlockpond



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Feels, M/M, Post Reichenbach, Sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-12
Updated: 2013-02-12
Packaged: 2017-11-29 02:05:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/681488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockpond/pseuds/sherlockpond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has come back but things aren't as great as Sherlock remembers... (Okay, okay. I THINK I wrote this. I'm pretty sure that I wrote it. If its yours I'll take it down, I promise.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	After Reichenbach

He was followed constantly.  
And that was the way Sherlock wanted it. He didn’t want John to bump into him on the street by accident. He didn’t want to have to do what killed him to do just once a month. He just wanted John to move on; he just wanted him to have the life he deserved, not the one that Sherlock had condemned him to. So every time they met up Sherlock made sure that he got what he deserved, a punch in the face, because deep down, he knew that it was his subconsciousness, making him pay for the torment he’d put John through. Every meeting would go accordingly to the one Sherlock was about to make today, and he hated himself for it, but he had to see John, because he loved him unconditionally.  
This week Sherlock had decided to meet up in the café near Russell Square tube station. One of his favourite places in town, he had never known why, he just liked the atmosphere it held.  
“Sherlock?” John’s whispering voice said for the 18th time. A whole year and a half, and yet not one single mark on Sherlock to prove it, for all John knew he was talking to the ghost of his friend and he was going quite mad.  
Sherlock’s brain got into its mode of sadness and self-pity; he couldn’t help but see John, he needed him to be reassured that he was making progress.  
His brain didn’t, however prepare itself for the slap on the face it received. Sherlock grasped his face as it reddened, blood blooming to just below the surface of the skin.  
“You’re complete bastard, you know,” John hissed once he come down from the initial shock “you made me go to your funeral, pour out my heart, think you were gone, and here you are, nothing changed and completely fine, I can’t believe I even loved you, yes, Sherlock, loved, I’ve gotten over you, after all this time, I’ve gotten over you and I know you think that you’re the only one in this universe but, be honest, why should I mourn you anymore? Why should I put myself through that pain? Because you’re so fucking selfish, so, so selfish to do this to me, to everyone, Mrs Hudson cried for weeks, Greg had raw eyes for a good month because of you, because he cared, we all cared for you so much and then you do this and throw it back in our faces like we’re nothing to you, like we’re shit on your stupid designer shoes. I hope you die alone for what you’ve done to my heart Sherlock, I don’t deserve this treatment from someone who was meant to love me, you’re just pathetic,”  
Sherlock sighed sadly, this was only the second time John had used the angry tactic in all the times they’d re-met. And it hurt the most and Sherlock knew it was probably the only time he would get told he was being a complete bastard by the one person to whom he cared what he thought about him as the words spilled from those lips, the lips he used to kiss, the lips that used to shower him in gratitude for being such a wonderful lover, the ones that constantly used to remind him at just how brilliant and amazing his brain is….was. Because now-a-days it was constantly riddled with the pain of his love not being able to see him or stay with him, not being able to whisper loving statements in his ear whilst lying in bed with easing breath and sweat sheened skin.  
“Please, just stay John, please let me explain what I’ve done, why and how,” Sherlock breathed, knowing he would, John may say that he doesn’t love him anymore but it was a blatant lie. And they both knew it. Sherlock from experience and John knew because he stilled cried himself to sleep some nights, breathing heavily, clutching his late lovers clothes, the scent disseminating into his own, proving that time was passing by, leaving John crying in the past.  
John sat down, not looking Sherlock in the eye, making Sherlock’s insides crumple and wither into themselves.  
“Listen, I didn’t like keeping this to myself, believe me when I say, I feel like shit, absolute shit when I think about any of you, I feel like I should just die--”  
John snorted indignantly.  
“But I know I have to carry on, we can’t be together, and deep down, you know that, you know that we can’t carry on, because he’s always going to be a threat to our relationship, and until then, I can’t have fully sustainable relationship with you, and I’m sorry for that, really, I am, because I know how much you used to love me, and I know we’re both capable of it again--”  
Another scoff came from John’s direction.  
But Sherlock persisted “and I think we could have an amazing life, but Moriarty will hunt you down, he’ll kill you if he found out we’re together, because he wants me isolated, he wants me alone and uncaring so he can morph me into one of his creations, or something that will make him completely unstoppable. And I have to stop him; I have to stop him from doing anything to you,” Sherlock breathed heavily “and ever since Riechenbach, it’s been so difficult to find him, because Moriarty escaped somehow, I don’t know, but believe me, once I’ve killed him, I’ll find you and we’ll be together, I promise you that, okay?”  
John shook his head.   
“No,” he said slowly “because, you know what, I’m sick of waiting for you, when you were “alive” I was sick of it and whilst you were “dead” and I was convincing everyone you weren’t. I was waiting for that door to open and for you to walk in, and you know what. You’re too late. I don’t want to wait anymore; I just want to move on from you and you suddenly turning up isn’t helping that situation, please, Sherlock, if you ever loved me, just let me have a good life, away from you, away from the madness you entail on my life and the lives of others, just leave me,”  
Sherlock knew what would happen now, and he was prepared, he knew, by now, what to do.  
“Can we talk this through at home? Please, just let me talk to you, properly, and if you want me to leave after you’ve heard absolutely everything, then, I’ll go, I promise, you’ll never hear from me, ever again,”  
Those last seven words made John’s heart-strings pull painfully. Never seeing Sherlock again seemed daunting at best, he’d told himself for a year and a half now that Sherlock was never coming back, that the black coffin that had been lowered into the ground had been the end, but now his brain had evidence that he could come back into his life John’s brain kicked into gear, creating images of them together again and John couldn’t help but admit defeat.  
“Fine,” he said tiredly, shaking his head “but you’ve explained most of your motives here, I don’t see how being at Baker Street will make any difference,”  
Sherlock wore a solemn expression as he followed his ex-lover out of the café door.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They arrived at Baker Street and walked in, Sherlock was careful to place his dates when Mrs Hudson was visiting relatives in the North so neither of the men could be disturbed or disrupted, and as for Mrs Turner next door, well, no-one really saw her that much.  
“What’s this all about then Sherlock?” John asked, falling limply into the armchair he’d grown accustomed to.  
Sherlock ignored the question for a few second, just taking a look around the flat, in a month not much had changed, but John had put up the few pictures they had of each other together. One picture was them at their engagement party, Sherlock’s long arms spun around the shorter man, both of them had a huge smile on their face, those were such happy times. Another was them on holiday, when John had convinced Sherlock just to take a few days off, they’d caught a train to South Wales and then to St David’s in Pembrokeshire, the beach was beautiful in early summer and Sherlock had been forced to wear the beach-wear that John had bought from him, they consisted of navy blue three quarter length surfing trousers, black converses and a loosely fitting animal t-shirt that was a pale grey and bought out the colour of his eyes, and just that happy look on John’s face as Sherlock wore them made the whole holiday worthwhile for Sherlock, just to see his lover so happy, it funnily enough was the same place John had asked Sherlock to marry him, the last night on the beach as the Welsh sky turned orange and pink John had uttered the words Sherlock’s father had assured him he’d never be able to ask or hear, because he wasn’t worth a lifetime of love because Sherlock’s father was completely sure no-one could love him intentionally and by choice, Sherlock’s father hated his son. And Sherlock hated him more than he thought it was possible to hate another human being.  
The final photo was of them and Lestrade at Scotland Yard at the Christmas party, their first Christmas party as a couple, it had been fancy dress and John had insisted they go, Sherlock hadn’t been all that thrilled to be pushed into going but if it made John happy then he could bare it. John had dressed up as a sci-fi character from one of his favourite shows, Sherlock still had no idea what show it was. And Sherlock had said he’d go if he could dress in a suit, and John, being John and having a back-up plan had gone out and bought him a replica David Tennant Doctor Who costume, the pinstriped outfit looked truly gorgeous on him and the plastic child’s sonic screwdriver tucked into the top breast pocket, peeking out just a little meant that he suited the whole outfit perfectly. John had been so happy that night and Sherlock made sure he didn’t himself get drunk so that he could make sure that John was home safely. Sherlock had his arm around John, it seemed like their signature pose, Sherlock was laughing at joke Lestrade had made and John was chuckling along with him.

Sherlock took this all in in a matter of seconds and began to talk as he realised his current position. In Baker Street, with a year and a half deprived John who looked, and Sherlock looked properly now, mapping out the face, well, he looked like he hadn’t slept in years, lines scattered his face and his hair was completely grey now. Sherlock sighed.  
“Look, I know that this has been tough for you, but honestly, I love you so much, please, tell me, when I come back to get you, you’ll be here, waiting for me, ready for us to have a life together,”  
John contemplated for a second.  
“I want to say yes, but I don’t want to carry on with this pretence, why do I have to hold everything? Every tiny thing that you need to hold in your head, so do I. But if you say that you’re coming back you better keep in touch with me, you better text me and call me and let me know how you’re getting on, yeah?”  
Sherlock let out a happy breath, closing his eyes he finally knew that they could be together again, but John can’t remember this happening, he can’t let him remember everything he’d told him, because he’d never live with himself if Moriarty tortured him for information.  
Sherlock sat on the edge of the armchair, pulling out his phone he went into his library of ring tones, and there was the one Sherlock had put together himself, that only he knew, and would trigger the amnesia seed he’d put into brain.  
Crying as he looked for one last time into those eyes he pressed play and the eyes went glassy, like there was something distracting out of the window.  
“When you wake from this trance in 4 and a half minutes you’ll remember only going to the café, having a nice tea, reading the paper and then making your way home, you won’t remember me, or any of our conversation, you’ll just feel like this afternoon has been lovely and you’re slowly moving on from my death. Now sleep,” Sherlock instructed, snapping his fingers, tears still streaming down his face he leant down and kissed John’s forehead, the motive for kill in his mind, he was ready to kill Moriarty. Taking his own set of keys from his Belstaff’s coat pocket he took the picture of them on holiday from the mantle-piece and laid it on John’s lap. Thinking John would wake thinking he’d been reminiscing and had fallen asleep.  
“See you soon love,” he whispered in John’s ear before exiting the flat and leaving John to wake up normally.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Exactly four minutes and twelve seconds later John woke up from a lovely deep sleep, with a sudden weight lifted from his heart.

I’m moving on he thought  
He touched the damp patch on his forehead and looked up at the ceiling suspiciously.  
I’m going to have to get Mrs Hudson to get those water pipes checked, I’m not going to end up paddling around in this flat.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

One month later a gunshot rang out from an old abandoned warehouse in the Docklands and the sound of a body falling to the ground followed.  
There was a swish of Belstaff coat and a shout that followed  
“John! I’m coming home!”  
Sherlock turned up on 221b Baker Street and re-met John Watson for the 19th time in just over a year and a half only to gauge his reaction, receive a slap in the face and say idly.  
“I do hate repetitiveness,”


End file.
